Western Short StoryThe Texas Legend MakersTom Sheehan

Western Short Story

Up from Texas they
came, a whole railroad carload of experienced deputies and posse men,
with their horses, to chase down a most dangerous gang of killers in
the “Four Corners” of the country where Colorado bordered the
territories of New Mexico, Arizona, and Utah. The war was over for a
dozen years, but in places like Durango and Cortez and Teec Nos Pos
and Littlefield, the war had not stopped, and no signs been seen that
it would end soon. It was 1877 and the day started with sunshine and
ended with a raid on the train by a gang of outlaws who were banished
by heavier gunfire than they had ever seen. The response was deemed
by the gang leader as “military, organized, knowing what they’re
up to. We got our hands full,” he might have said to his gang.

The leader of the
carload posse was former Texas Ranger Homer Waldrip, a slender,
bright-eyed individual, 36 years old, with 15 years law experience in
his kit bag. He was born in a wagon on the plains in 1841, from what
he had been told, his family on the way to Colorado, to gold, to
riches, to dreams.

Waldrip, after the
quick attack on the train, gathered his men and made a special pitch
to them. “They are on to us. It’s obvious that someone, perhaps
on the inside, told somebody about our mission. We are going to need
every man on his toes all through this chase, this battle on our
hands. I don’t think we’ve seen the end of them on this ride.
They’ll be better prepared for us the next time, so what we have to
do is offset any advantage they manage to arrange. In the meantime, I
have some special instructions that will be given where particular
situations are warranted, and general instructions for all the rest.”

He looked them
square in the eye, saying, “I’m hoping it doesn’t happen, but
chances are we’ll lose a few men in this battle. I know you’re
all committed, heavily so, and I couldn’t want a better group of
men to go to war with than all of you. It has been a privilege to
work with you, each man. So, all men, except those that I call out at
the end of this meeting, are to leave this car and get to the cattle
cars, with as little commotion or notice as possible, and get saddles
in place, take care of your horses as best you can, but be ready to
ride at a moment’s notice. The down ramps are hung up just as we
left them, so it’ll be easy enough to drop them down and hurry
off.”

With honest emotion
on his face, he said, “Good luck to all of you. And if we carry
this off, get these thugs where they belong, Texas and the country
will sing songs about you. I am positive; songs will be written about
you and legends will rise across the land. It is inevitable.”

He smiled a smile
of anticipation, a smile of confidence. “We are the makers of
legends. Legends, I say. Hot damn, boys, I can feel it coming. All
the way up from my boots. We’re going to leave some marks on these
bozos, you can bet the farm on that. Now I want Chris Chambers and
Carl Lockhart to stay here while the rest of you leave, heading out
for destiny.”

There was noise.
There was acceptance. Confidence ran through the car like a prairie
fire. It shone on all the faces of the posse mission.

Two men stood and
approached Waldrip as the other men began a slow withdrawal from the
passenger car. Some of the men were as young as 23 or 24 and some had
reached 40, and Waldrip could see the lives of just about all of them
flashing in front of him. They were, he acknowledged, a conspicuous
group of men, all touched with courage and fortitude in extreme
situations. He wondered how they would be taxed this time out of the
barn.

Waldrip and
Chambers and Lockhart sat in the corner of the car for a quarter of
an hour, and Waldrip did all the talking.

Twenty miles ahead
of the train, after the exchange of information between two riders of
the brigand’s gang, the second rider rode into a small encampment
of men and horses a good mile away from the tracks and a water stop
for the railroad.

One man, heavy in
the chest, one eyebrow with half its growth replaced by an ugly scar
half circling that eye, said, “What’d you see, Clancy?”

“I didn’t see
anything, Brick, but Halverson said he thinks they’ll be stopping
for water here before they get any further up the line. Said they
used a bunch of it sitting there as they gathered themselves for the
rest of the ride. Said there’s gotta be 25 or 30 of them. Says
Silvertone’s the only one he knows. Fastest man he’s ever seen,
no counting the dead. Course we know Waldrip is there, keeping hid,
but he’s there.” His voice changed, sinking in curiosity. “How’d
you ever get word about them, Brick? You got a rat in their pack?”

Deep-scarred Brick
Meggard, with a bandolier filled with long rifle shells draped over
his shoulder and a deep voice coming up from his boots, said, “Never
mind that stuff. Cost me enough. Tell the boys be ready to ride when
I give a yell. We’ll surprise them at the water stop. They won’t
think we’re coming back at them this fast. We’ll keep them off
guard a few more times, wear them out.”

Out beyond them,
well hidden, his horse tethered in a growth of trees, Chris Chambers
held a glass on them, making count of the horses the bandits had tied
to a length of rope. He did not know the heavy man who appeared to
be boss of the outfit, making gestures, spinning around, being busy,
and attracting attention. “That’s the big man of the outfit, I’d
guess,” he said half aloud. “Bet he knows Homer, or has heard of
him. About every criminal in the territories has. Well, he’s going
to hear some more. Looks like they’re getting ready to surprise us
at this next water stop. Homer will be glad to hear this. I’ll have
to get back there now.”

He went back down
into the wadi, sat up on his saddle and guided his horse into the
next low spot in the terrain and was on his way back to the train in
a matter of minutes. He had not gone half a mile when his path was
blocked by four men. On the instant, knowing he could not turn around
and go back, Chambers spurred his horse into the four men and fired
away with his side arms. One arm caught the singe of a bullet, his
hat flew off from another hit, and his guns ended up empty. But he
had gotten beyond them. If he was lucky, they’d chase him right
into Waldrip’s small army of the law. That would serve them right,
those that he hadn’t killed. As he fled away from the gang members,
he could hear Waldrip saying, “We are the makers of legends.” It
was in the wind in his ears, his hat gone with a shot too close for
thinking. He was part of Texas history forever; it was bound to come
true, and he was in on the start of it all. He spurred the noble
animal under him.

Waldrip heard his
story and ordered the men to their horses. “We won’t ride right
up to them and say ‘Let’s fight.’ We’ll do it our way. We’ll
bring the army of us, this small army, right into their camp. Anybody
know this area good enough to pick a trail for us toward the water
stop?”

Silvertone, nodding
his head, said, “I been this way before, Homer. This side there’s
a break in the range and a valley skirts the track line for a mile or
so, and comes out on open range and that range runs right along a
good chunk of the railroad. I would guess the water stop is easy to
get to.”

“We’ll go that
way, the whole bunch of us,” Waldrip said. “Anybody seen Lockhart
yet? Keep your eyes open for him. He’s out ahead of us someplace
looking up their lookouts and other relief horses besides the ones
Chambers spotted. They’ve always had a few surprises in their kit
bag and one of them is enough spare mounts to help their getaway.
They have cavalry tactics in hand. Somebody among them was in the
army at one time.”

Ahead, waiting for
reports, upset and angry that the first attack went awry, Meggard
spent his time yelling at his men, while he tried to figure out what
Homer Waldrip would do next. He called one of his men up to the log
he was sitting on. “You tell me anything you didn’t say before,
Rocco. I don’t care how unimportant you think it is. Go back over
everything you heard or was told to you. Don’t let anything slip
away. Waldrip will use anything he can to whip our butts. He’s all
soldier at this job. We got to reckon with him. It ain’t going to
be easy.”

Rocco, handsome as
a new magazine cover, said, ‘I’m pretty damned sure I told you
all she told me, Brick. She was crazy mad at them for what they done
to her father, and finds no favors there. I’ll keep going over it
in my mind what she said, but I think you got all I had. Just the
train load of cowboys comin’ our way, gonna be heroes of the whole
west. Sounded like Waldrip was dreamin’ about winnin’ a small
war, and we’re the losers. Said the big shots from the territorial
offices were behind hirin’ him and his gang of heroes. Half them
just out of little pants, from what she said.”

“You believe her
when she says something like that?”

“She don’t know
nothin’ but the truth when she’s talkin’ to me, Brick. Nothin’
but the truth, and all the way.”

Meggard found the
bit of salt in Rocco’s smile, and ignored the feelings expressed.
“If you remember anything else, get it to me.”

He stood up and
yelled out, “All right, boys. Double and triple on the ammo. We’re
gonna give them hell as long as we can. No tin horn Ranger’s going
to catch us short again. We’ll ride right over them. They won’t
believe we’re coming at them again so soon. Double and triple ammo.
Load up and get ready to move out. This war ain’t over yet.”

The gang of them,
all forty men, was saddled up, armed, and ready to move in a short
time.

Meggard picked
Rocco and another man and said, “You two slip out ahead of us and
check on the lookouts up in the hills. See if they’ve seen any
movement of a lot of riders. You know about where they are, the two
of them. They’re well hid up there, so shake them loose. We’ll be
moving down on the water stop due up next for Waldrip and his boys.
We’ll have to rush them because it’s open ground there, but we
can pour enough lead in there to sink a boat.”

The broad evil
smile ran across his face. “We got a few other surprises for
Waldrip. He’ll find out he can’t go back and he can’t go ahead.
I’ve got a couple of other boys ready to burn down the bridges
ahead and behind them. They’ll be locked in with us. Before you
know it, boys, we’ll own this territory outright. It’ll all be
ours. How’s that sound to you?”

There was a loud
mix of hurrahs and hoorays.

Rocco and his
companion could not find the lookouts. They scoured the area around
where they were supposed to be on the lookout. No signs showed up.
Rocco was, for the first time, suspicious of what he was into. “Think
somebody found them out?” he said to his companion.

Neither one of them
had any idea of what had occurred at both lookout sites, where Carl
Lockhart, part Apache, part Kiowa, had spent the whole previous day,
on the slow prowl searching for lookouts, testing smells in the air,
watching for solitary smoke signals rising from small campfires,
seeking men searching for firewood, finding horse tracks leading
uphill to possible observation posts that had excellent views over
the general area. He’d found both men, binding one, having to shoot
another. But both observation posts were disabled; the two sites took
in a view of perhaps five miles square miles.

Lockhart reported
his activity to Waldrip.

“They’ll sing
your praises someday, Gray Fox,” Waldrip told Lockhart, addressing
him with his given Indian name. “In the tents of the fathers and
the stations of the wagons, in the saloons where thirsts are treated,
the whole west will sing of your exploits; how you took away the eyes
of the eagle. It is all happening the way I said it would. Songs will
be written and sung across the Nations.”

Lockhart knew
Waldrip was telling him his future, as the shaman had the day he left
the village: “You will catch the bird sleeping,” the shaman had
said. “The gray fox catches the sleeping bird.” It was enough
truth for him.

Meggard, disgusted
that his lookouts had either deserted their posts, or had hidden
themselves to get sleep, ordered his men to attack the train as it
sat at the water stop.

They rode against
the train in a wide sweep, like a cavalry charge at Shiloh or his own
Fort Madison only a few people knew about, the survivors. He was one
of only three survivors that he knew about.

“Fire at will,”
he screamed as they rode against the idle train. “Fire at will,
Kill them all. Remember the war is not over. Fire at will.”

The resulting
fusillade of bullets danced all across the train, a withering,
endless firepower unleashed on the passenger cars.

“Watch the far
side of the cattle cars. They may send out the riders. Fire on the
cattle cars. Fire away.”

There was no
movement from the cattle cars or the passenger cars. No shooting. No
rushing about. His men were unleashing fusillade after fusillade
against all sections of the train.

For a bare moment,
Meggard thought that all Waldrip’s men might have been killed. And
in an instant knew he was wrong. He was all wrong. Waldrip had fooled
him. Waldrip and his men were not on the train. He felt the first
shudders of realization hit him. Then the charge of Waldrip’s small
army came out of a low spot behind him.

Waldrip’s men
came in a true cavalry charge, the arrow at the heart of Meggard’s
gang, the firepower relentless and hitting the ranks of his men with
unerring accuracy, men falling from or being knocked out of their
saddles in a huge reversal of fortunes.

Meggard wondered
where he would end up in Waldrip songs, if he would be painted as the
man he thought he was, who wanted a new nation in part of another
nation.

The last question
in his mind ran its course with a single round that carried no pain
but sudden reality.

Music came from
somewhere around Meggard. It was church-like and solemn.